


Massachusetts After Midnight

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s03e18 Teso Dos Bichos, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 11:44:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15840621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: After an irritating case, Mulder and Scully make the best of their night.  The post-"Teso dos Bichos" smut you've always wanted.The Massachusetts entry in the "A Map of Us" challenge.





	Massachusetts After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> This is part of the "A Map of Us" challenge, curated by @viceversa and inspired by @softnow.

Scully flops down on the motel bed with a sigh.  “Next time we have a case like this, you’re on your own,” she tells Mulder, who’s followed her into the room without waiting to be asked and is sitting at the foot of the bed.  “I mean it.”

“Aw, Scully,” he says, grinning at her.  “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Who said it was bad?” Scully asks.  “That’s my point, Mulder.  I think we could be using the FBI’s resources better than on dealing with recalcitrant house pets.”  She touches the scratch on her cheek, wincing.  “I hate cats.”

“That thing you have is basically a cat,” Mulder says.

She sits up, indignant.  “Queequeg is not a cat,” she says.  “I can’t believe you’d say something like that about him.”

“Well, he’s barely a dog,” Mulder says.  “He’s not what you’d call wolf-like.  He doesn’t do dog things.  And he stays in the house and has pointy ears.  Like a cat.”

“He does do dog things,” Scully says.  “He’s loyal and affectionate.  Those are dog things.”

“Yeah, he was really affectionate to his last owner,” Mulder says.

“You don’t understand animals, that’s all,” Scully says.  “You just don’t like him because he chewed on your socks.  Which you left on the floor.  Where they could be chewed.”

“Well, where else was I supposed to leave them?” Mulder asks.  “I wasn’t exactly concentrating on sock placement at that moment.  As you may recall.”  His smile is more of a leer, now, and tired as she is, she decides she can’t let him have all the fun.  Hell, they need some fun.  After this night.  This ridiculous case.  These damn stupid cats.

“Funnily enough, I do,” she says.  “But you know, I think maybe you’re jealous of Queequeg.”

He laughs.  “I know we don’t exactly have the cushy jobs, but I still think I’m better off than a dog.”

“In most cases, yes,” Scully says.  “But Queequeg gets to sleep in my bed most nights.  Aren’t you jealous of that?”

Definitely a leer at this point.  “Well, Queequeg isn’t here right now, is he?” Mulder asks, his voice low and teasing, and suddenly she’s lying back again, with him straddling her.  It’s ridiculous.  They’ve just been arguing about a dog and wrestling with cats.  It’s ridiculous for her to be this turned on.

But oh, she is.

His lips move over her face, brushing gently just above the scratch, then down to her neck, the spot right by her pulse point, the sensitive one that makes her squirm (and he knows that, he knows that).  She reaches up to start undressing him, pushing his jacket off his shoulders, tugging at his tie.  She’s needy but not rushed; she knows he’s here with her tonight. 

“Sit up a little,” he says, reaching for her jacket in turn, and she does.  They make short work of each other’s shirts, and he tosses them onto the floor ostentatiously.  In another situation she might roll her eyes; now she nuzzles into him, leaving little kisses and nips along his collarbone, eliciting a pleased gasp. 

It’s a game of give and take, here on this motel bed (not the most comfortable place they’ve made love, not the worst either): a kiss here and a touch there, a sigh or a moan or a “Come here, you,” a long lingering look or a squirm against the sheets.  The way she tosses her bra onto the floor and he laughs at that and moves her back towards the head of the bed and cups her breasts in his hands.  The way she yawns, suddenly, when his mouth is on her nipple.

He just laughs; the vibration makes her shiver.  “I’m flattered,” he says.

“It’s not you,” she says.  “It’s just so late.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.  And when they move together, when she clings to him, when he makes her cry out his name, what started out as a very irritating night somehow ends perfectly, after all.

She’s even sleepier now, post-orgasm, but she makes herself get up and use the bathroom.  She thinks about putting her pajamas on, but going through her suitcase seems like it would take a lot of energy, and Mulder’s always so warm at night anyway, so she doesn’t bother.  She just slides under the sheets, curling up against him.  He holds her, there at her back, one arm draped over her waist.

“I like this,” Scully says softly. 

“What do you like?” he asks.

“When it’s just us,” she says.  “Just you and me.”  It’s easier for her to say it at moments like these, dark and quiet ones.

He kisses the spot behind her ear.  “Me too.”  A moment of quiet.  “This is like cats.”

“Like cats?” she asks him sleepily.  “What?”

“This,” he says, holding her tighter.  “Cats sleep like this.”

“No, they don’t,” she says, because that’s silly, and she hates cats, anyway.

“They do,” he says.

“They don’t,” she says, and maybe he says something else after that, but she’s so close to sleep that she can’t quite be sure.


End file.
